i suspect i am
an amateur medium
channeling all
of the spirits
that did their best
to snuff out the
spark before my
inferno could rage
because if the fire
wasn’t to keep
them warm then it
served no purpose
brightening the sky
for others to enjoy
now i sit huddled
buried beneath
downtown dallas
blowing gently on
the embers before
they go cold again
and the only way
i have to make
myself feel tangible
in a world that sees
through me without
ever acknowledging
i am right fucking here
only the lingering
spirits whispering
how i only exist
when i serve a use
and each shake of
the magic eight ball
says all signs
point to yes
each card i flip
is the fool signaling
starting over
againandagainandagain
until the hazel light
fades into oblivion

lavender lightning
etches her smile across
my fleeting dreamchasm
an escape route in
prismatic beauty
buffering me against
the hopelessness
of the weight of the
sins scratched in
inky streaks across my
tattered whimsy by
the hands that should
have only offered
shelter from the storm